


Lover's Walk Redux

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [39]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She loves to watch him strut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lover's Walk Redux

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as _A Raising in the Sun_, _Necessary Evils_, et. al. (See the [Barbverse Timeline](http://sleepingjaguars.com/buffy/viewpage.php?page=timeline) for specifics.) It contains spoilers for previous works in the series. This was inspired by a certain animated icon that was making the rounds on Livejournal, made from an out-take from _Smallville_.

Buffy looks down from the balcony to see him coming across the dance floor of the Bronze. He's not a big guy, Spike, but he doesn't need to be. The black leather duster's been hanging in the back of the closet for years, too beat up to wear except for very special occasions, but Spike still moves like its coat-tails are flaring dramatically behind him.

He stops, silhouetted against the strobing dance lights, black jeans slung low on narrow hips, black t-shirt taut across broad shoulders. Some looks? Classic. He lifts his head, eyes closed, nostrils flaring. Light glints off the bleach-frosted tips of his curls. His eyes flick open, and he's moving again. Intent on his prey, he evades dancers and tables alike with tigerish grace, heading for the stairs.

When he rises out of the stairwell she's waiting, twirling the ice in her empty glass. She can see his eyes, the pupils flashing copper even in human shape. And he's walking towards her, with that loose-hipped, rolling stride, arms swinging easy, all compact rangy muscle. Spike sweeps her out of her chair and into a kiss, long and thorough, and she wraps her arms around him, fingers taking inventory: biceps, triceps, pectoralis major, the sweet curve of abdominal oblique above the iliac crest. Who would have thought, back in high school, that anatomy could be fun?

Buffy slides out of his grasp, trailing kisses down his chest as she falls to her knees before him. Spike's breath hitches as she catches the hem of his t-shirt in white teeth and tugs it up to expose a pale stripe of belly. She steadies his hips in her hands, tongues his navel till he gasps and drops lower, nuzzling the little curve of flesh below, planting kisses along the near-invisible trail of dark hair leading down into temptation.

She nips at the top button on his jeans like a cat, looks up at him from beneath lowered lashes. He's trembling, and for a second her resolve wavers. She's being cruel. But she's got needs, too. She steels herself. And whispers, "Get me a fresh drink? Please? I'll be waiting right here." She licks her lips, one quick pink flash of tongue. "Just like this."

Spike's mouth drops open, snaps shut. The muscles in his jaw twitch. "Slayer - " he growls, holding up a finger. Then he sighs and shoves off the rail of the balcony. "Could've bloody well yelled to me while I was down by the sodding bar," he grumbles, tucking the hem of his shirt back in. "Bloody women with their bloody..."

"Tab, remember, not Diet Coke!" Buffy calls after him, and grins when he flips her a two-fingered salute over his shoulder. She'll make it up to him when he gets back, but really, how could she resist this opportunity?

Because the view from the back is _just_ as good.

END


End file.
